Bring Me Home And Have Me
by BipolarMolar
Summary: This is set post-almostgeddon. Crowley realises that Aziraphale is affectionate to him when he is in snake form: cuddling him, patting him, praising him like a pet. He decides to shift to serpentine form when they hang out so he can get more cuddles from his angel. But when he tries to change back into the demon we all know and love, he can't. Is he doomed to be a snek forever? Won


**In this fic, Crowley can't talk as a snake. I know that doesn't make sense because if that were the case, how would he have been able to tempt Eve? But for the sake of artistic licence, snake!Crowley is mute, aside from snakey sounds, hissing etc.**

Something woke him. He didn't know what. He stirred, shrugging off sleep, although that didn't come easy, like peeling off several heavy blankets, his mind didn't clear immediately. At least he didn't have to sift through half-remembered dreams. He stretched, flicking his tail up.

He didn't dream as a snake. Maybe snakes weren't imaginative enough to dream. They certainly didn't feel as many emotions. He found that, when he changed forms to the one that crawled on its belly, he was not as able to access a wider range of emotions. And the emotions he felt, they were easy to box up, and then label the box with the corresponding emotion and then shove out of sight. That was why he'd spent so much time in that form recently. As a humanoid being, his mind was constantly buzzing with feeling, and thoughts, ideas and daydreams. And when he lay in bed, his mind was still alight with pictures and voices, although these took on a different mood. Visions of pale skin, and paler hair, of limbs entangling with his own, and so much to _see_ and _touch_ and _taste_. He wasn't stupid. He knew the figure in the dreams had a name, a name he knew as well as his own, a name that fell from his lips easier than his own...possibly because he said that name far more than his own. And although, yes, he'd initially enjoyed the dreams, eagerly awaiting nightfall or taking catnaps (demon-naps?) in the daytime just so he could be wrapped around that body again, he grew tired of it. For all his imagination, he couldn't imagine a body he'd never seen unclothed. A chest, legs, a back and other parts that confused and excited him. Why be teased? Why see something and never be able to grab hold of it? And he would grab hold, if it was offered willingly. He had something of a tight grip.

But it never was offered. Not even now, a time when he, no, _they _should be celebrating. He was free. No longer answering to diabolical bureaucracy. And Aziraphale was free. They could go anywhere. Do anything. But instead, here he was, best friends with a man who could barely bring himself to shake his hand.

A sound tore through the air. He knew at once what had awoken him. The doorbell. He inwardly sighed, allowing himself to shift back into a slightly-less terrifying form, albeit one with messy auburn hair and black pyjamas.

Crowley wiped sleep from his eyes, grumbling to himself. Whoever was at the door was going to be sorry. He'd give them an earful that would curdle the blood of any human foolish enough to disrupt his slumber. He liked the word slumber. It lent his nap a certain grandeur.

"Aziraphale?" He blinked down at the figure dressed in cream, standing stiffly on his doorstep . They'd both been lucky averting Armageddon but it had caused a change in the status quo. For now, even though they still regularly met, dining at the Ritz, taking a constitutional in London's many parks, Crowley was aware of a change in the air. A new element in the friendship. The tension, the rivalry was gone. Now, they were both allowed to be something that had never been an option for them before. They were simply allowed to _be. _

"Haven't heard from you in a little while. I thought I'd check in."

Crowley raised his eyebrows but stepped back, letting him in. He led him to the living room, realising, belatedly, that the place currently looked like the apocalypse had occurred, entirely localised in his home.

Aziraphale stumbled, glancing down at the obstacle by his feet. A discarded jacket. Other items of clothing were thrown around the room, shoes on the floor, a shirt draped over the arm of a chair, a tie hanging from a lampshade like a bat.

"You've been...taking it easy then?"

"I'm retired! We both are! For the first time in six thousand years, I don't have to get up, put on clothes, work. It's like a permanent holiday." 

Aziraphale picked up the jacket, neatly folding it and placing it on a coffee table. He shook his head. "Hmm, you're really indulging in the sin of sloth, aren't you?"

"Hey, I've watched nature documentaries. Sloths have a great life, that's why they're always smiling. So, what are you doing here?"

"As you say, we're no longer employed or in opposition to each other so...I thought I'd make a social call."

Crowley threw himself down on his sofa, stretching his legs out. "So you're happy to fraternise with me now, are you, angel?"

"I'm always happy to spend time with you. But now there are no repercussions for doing so." Aziraphale tutted at Crowley's outstretched legs, gently pushing them off the seat so he could sit down next to him.

Crowley quickly stifled a smile at Aziraphale's words, his brain taking a second to catch up to what was going on. Aziraphale had _touched_ him, touched his legs. Just for a second. Such an occasion was so rare, that when it happened, it was noteworthy. He thought back to Hell, of a swarming throng of bodies, dancing, punching, cramped for space in the stagnant air. He didn't miss that. But sometimes, he wished Aziraphale had more that demonic loose-living vibe.

They'd been friends for thousands of years. They'd done so much for each other. Crowley cast a side glance at Aziraphale. He'd walked through a church to save him, wasn't that worth at least a hug? Weren't angels supposed to be all soft and lovey-dovey? Sometimes, Aziraphale would look at him and his eyes would sparkle, his cheeks would dimple in the most endearing way, his whole body emitting waves of affection. But that space between them, whether it was a table, or even just air, stretched out in front of Crowley. He couldn't close the gap. He couldn't lean forward and let his arms envelop his friend, pull him closer so their chests were touching, maybe bend down a little so he could rest his face on Aziraphale's neck.

"You must have half your wardrobe scattered on the floor. What have you been doing for - um, for clothes?"

"I've been in my other form, actually. Don't need clothes for that. It's relaxing." And when he was a snake, he didn't seem to feel emotions as strongly. Which helped with...stuff.

"I haven't seen you like that since the garden of Eden. Beginning to forget what you looked like."

Crowley leaned forward. "I can show you? Having this really cool power, not being to show it off to anyone. That's the real punishment, worse than anything they could devise in Hell."

Aziraphale smiled. "Go on then. Wow me."

Crowley grinned widely, letting his eyes fall shut and the power flow. He felt himself withdrawing into himself, his fingers tingled as they shrunk into nothing, his skin pulsed as it roughened, scales blooming over his body in patches, patches that grew until they connected, until he couldn't see smooth tanned flesh anymore. Only glistening black and red scales.

Aziraphale's eyes widened, and Crowley enjoyed his moment of smugness. He didn't want Aziraphale to take his eyes off him. He wanted that gaze on him always, soft, gentle, openly _adoring_. He knew Aziraphale was genuinely fond of him, although he may protest otherwise, but the trouble was, that fondness was the same brand of fondness Aziraphale had for books, or the earth or a good meal and a hot bath. It wasn't the type of emotion Crowley felt. Perhaps it was because he was a demon, no, there was no perhaps about it. It had to be that. The desire to know Aziraphale completely, every hope and fear, every fantasy. To crawl into him, wrap himself around his heart, to be so thoroughly enmeshed in him that not even the Lord could separate them.

"Pretty scales, you've got some red in there, I can't believe I never noticed before." Aziraphale said and, to Crowley's surprise, ran his fingers down Crowley's back. Crowley froze but didn't edge away, feeling a shiver run up him following the path of Aziraphale's fingers.

He drew in a breath and released it, hearing the slow hissing rise up from the back of his throat. Aziraphale stopped, his hand hovering in the air. Crowley was suddenly filled with the urge to wrap himself around it. "Oh, I'm sorry, my dear, I shouldn't have done that, should I?"

If he'd been in human form, Crowley would have shrugged, but, lacking shoulders, that gesture was unavailable to him. He gently butted Aziraphale's hand with his head as if to say _it's okay, I don't mind at all._


End file.
